


Confession

by gwyllion



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 22:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllion/pseuds/gwyllion
Summary: Athelstan has a bad dream.





	Confession

**Author's Note:**

> Confession was written for 2019 Hurt Comfort Bingo prompt “skeletons in the closet.” Thanks to my wonderful beta, Gillian! And thanks to the H/C mod for running this great community!

Athelstan writhed beneath the furs. His head ached as he dreamed. He panted and whined in his sleep.

“Athelstan…?”

Hearing the whisper in the dark, Athelstan swam toward Ragnar’s voice, calling him back from the sleep that had enveloped him. He sputtered nonsense while his fingers dug uselessly at the bedding.

“Athelstan… wake up, love.”

Athelstan’s eyes opened to the dim morning light. His chest heaved. Distress washed over him until he became aware that Ragnar was watching him.

“Wha…?” Athelstan asked, blinking once before settling back into the furs.

Ragnar’s face hovered over his.

“I think you were having a bad dream,” Ragnar said.

Athelstan’s dream came rushing back to him. The anger rose from the pit of his stomach, but he did his best to push it down. It didn’t matter anymore. He was awake and Ragnar was beside him. Still, remembering his dream made him shudder. He met Ragnar’s eyes before Ragnar dipped his head to kiss Athelstan’s forehead. 

“I was having a sort of nightmare, I think,” Athelstan said, shaking his head. He gulped in breaths of fresh air. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

The concern that wrinkled Ragnar’s brow made Athelstan realize that he must have scared Ragnar with his dream-induced outburst. He wanted nothing more than to put his lover’s mind at ease.

“It was just a bad dream,” Athelstan said, reassuringly stroking Ragnar’s scraggly beard. “I feel better now.” He tugged the blanket over his shoulders and edged closer to Ragnar.

“You were shaking,” Ragnar whispered. He pulled Athelstan into his arms, bringing the warmth with him.

“I was so angry,” Athelstan mused, relaxing into Ragnar’s embrace. 

“I was worried,” Ragnar said, pressing a kiss to Athelstan’s hair.

“It’s gone now, thank the gods,” Athelstan said, snuggling deeper into Ragnar’s arms.

Ragnar sighed heavily. He reached for a cup of water at their bedside and placed it in Athelstan’s hand.

“Go ahead, take a sip,” Ragnar said.

Athelstan took the cup from Ragnar’s hand. He appreciated the care that Ragnar took with him. In their many years together, he delighted that Ragnar acted like a fearsome warrior toward the people of Kattegat and the armies he commanded, but to Athelstan, Ragnar was always a bit of a mother hen.

Athelstan sipped the water and set the cup aside. Grateful that he woke from the dream, he laced his fingers through Ragnar’s. 

“Do you want to tell me what your dream was about?” Ragnar asked.

“It was foolish,” Athelstan said dismissively. “It doesn’t matter now.”

With a tilt of his head, Ragnar looked like he did not believe Athelstan’s answer.

“Tell me about it,” Ragnar said. “It will make you feel better.”

“You’ll think it was ridiculous,” Athelstan said with a huff. “Besides, it’s nearly daybreak. We need to stoke the fire and I promised Bjorn I would go to the blacksmith with him this morning.”

Athelstan wasn’t surprised that Ragnar made no attempt to move from the bed.

“Come now,” Ragnar said, giving Athelstan a little nudge with his shoulder. “You always told me that you felt better when you discussed your concerns with others. It is not my way, but it seems to work for you. Go ahead, confess to Ragnar.”

Athelstan rolled his eyes before remembering the details of the dream that made him so upset. “You won’t understand,” he said, sure that the emotions the dream induced in him would be lost on Ragnar.

“Please?” Ragnar whispered.

Athelstan could rarely resist Ragnar when he pleaded with him. He supposed he needed to tell him about the dream, lest Ragnar spend the day sulking over his hesitance to tell him what he remembered of it.

“It’s about something that happened around the time you took me from Lindisfarne,” Athelstan said quietly.

Ragnar’s eyebrows shot up. “Lindisfarne? You haven’t spoken of Lindisfarne in many years,” Ragnar said. “I am sorry if the memory of it still haunts your dreams.”

“No,” Athelstan said, clutching Ragnar’s hand to assure him. “It wasn’t like that. It didn’t involve my capture. Not directly, at least.”

The bleating of the goats, pleading for their breakfast, emanated from the barn beyond the great hall. Athelstan moved to get up, but Ragnar threw his leg over Athelstan’s hips, stopping him.

“Let me guess,” Ragnar said, his warm lips moving against Athelstan’s neck. “You were secretly hoping Rollo chose you for a slave, instead of me.”

Athelstan smiled at the absurdity of it. His fingers prodded the place beneath Ragnar’s ribs that made him laugh and squirm to get away. Although Athelstan was stronger than he had ever been in his adult life, he was no match for Ragnar, who put an end to his tickling by trapping his hands.

When they both settled down, neither man trying to get breakfast started before tackling their morning chores, Athelstan spoke. “No. It was about Father Cuthbert.”

Ragnar’s frown grew deep. It took some time before he next spoke. “Athelstan,” he said. “You would tell me… if Father Cuthbert did something to you?”

Athelstan couldn’t imagine what Ragnar suspected Father Cuthbert of doing, but he clearly had something in mind.

Ragnar raised an eyebrow and pressed, “Did he touch you?”

“Oh, no,” Athelstan said, flapping his hands until they came loose from Ragnar’s grip. 

“Thank the gods,” Ragnar said.

“No, nothing like that,” Athelstan said, patting Ragnar’s chest with the palm of his hand.

Ragnar relaxed noticeably, sinking down into the furs. “I would be worried if you hadn’t mentioned something terrible like that before, and that it took a bad dream to finally let you share it with me.”

Ragnar sounded so sincere and so concerned. Athelstan was certain that his dream did not warrant such attention.

“Now, you are truly going to think my dream was foolish. I can’t believe I still remember what Father Cuthbert did, after all this time,” Athelstan said. “And that I was so angered by it in my dream.”

“I am listening,” Ragnar said. He rested his head on Athelstan’s shoulder and waited for him to continue.

Athelstan supposed he had better get on with it, no matter that his anger at himself had not aged well in the ensuing years. 

“It was something that happened during the storm on the night when your ship came ashore,” Athelstan said. “I was huddled with the other monks as we watched the storm approach from the sea. We were frightened by the thunder and the dark clouds. I was certain that the apocalypse was upon us.”

“What is this thing… an apocalypse?” Ragnar interrupted.

“It’s like… Ragnarok,” Athelstan said, in the briefest explanation possible.

“Ahh, I can see why you would be frightened,” Ragnar said with understanding.

“The ground shook. We prayed to be forgiven for our sins,” Athelstan said. “We were alone and afraid in the dormitory. I thought that someone should tell Father Cuthbert what was happening outside the monastery. He was our spiritual leader—he should _want_ to know.”

“Let me guess who this special _someone_ was,” Ragnar said, his fingers toying with Athelstan’s braid. “Did he have pretty blue eyes?”

Athelstan could not keep from smiling. He tilted his head so he could whisper in Ragnar’s ear.

“I went to Father Cuthbert’s room and told him that we had seen the signs of the apocalypse,” Athelstan continued.

Athelstan hadn’t thought of that night in years, but his dream made the memory of the night return. 

“The storm… the clouds that descended upon our island… the waves crashing on the shore. The voices of men….”

“Me, and my men,” Ragnar said, rubbing his thumb across Athelstan’s cheek.

“I was quite sure we were all facing death. We were terrified,” Athelstan said, turning to press a kiss into Ragnar’s palm.

Athelstan breathed against Ragnar’s skin.

“And what did Father Cuthbert say when you told him of your fear?”

“He berated me for bothering him and told me to return to the dormitory,” Athelstan said through clenched teeth.

Ragnar cupped Athelstan’s jaw. “And…?”

“I hated him for it…” Athelstan sighed.

“You?” Ragnar asked. “Hate? I’ve never known you to hate anyone.” 

“Yes,” Athelstan said, “I hated him in that moment for simply dismissing me when I thought what I had to tell him was important.”

“I have hated many people in my day,” Ragnar mused. “I never had a bad dream about any of them.”

“But we Christians were taught to love one another, and Father Cuthbert made me angry enough to hate on that night,” Athelstan said, adding, “I feel terrible about it.”

“And this is what you dreamed about?” Ragnar asked, barely containing his laughter. “You are upset because you once hated a man a long time ago?”

Athelstan exhaled. He knew Ragnar well enough to know that he would think it was foolish.

“Oh, Athelstan, you truly are a Christian!” Ragnar laughed as he pulled Athelstan on top of him, the fur slipping off his bare shoulders.

“I tried to warn you!” Athelstan yelped. 

It seemed like Ragnar always knew the right thing to say, so matter how unexpected.

“Come here, you ridiculous Christian,” Ragnar said, hooking a leg around Athelstan’s.

Athelstan braced his hands on either side of Ragnar’s head. He let his lips brush against Ragnar’s, but Ragnar wanted to offer more. He licked at Athelstan’s lips and Athelstan permitted him to enter. 

Athelstan drank in the comfort that he found in Ragnar’s kiss, his cares washing away like the retreating surf. As they kissed, Athelstan felt Ragnar’s hands in his hair, loosening his braid. The morning chores drifted far from his mind, and the anger born from his dream was forgotten.


End file.
